Death of a Warlock

I buried a warlock today.
He was a fool.
Obsessed with the pursuit
of knowledge.
So much so,
that he forsook
his very humanity
for its cost.
They say that he loved a woman
with such passion,
such vigor,
such life,
that you could see his soul
burning for lightyears
for her.
But it was not returned.
And like all stars,
even the giants
must fade to nothing.
It was beautiful,
they say.
The way he collapsed,
bending time and space
in the sheer weight
of his love.
He vowed he would return,
someday.
That this life
is just one of many
the soul must
endure
in order to transcend
even the heavens.
He told me
of a shrine he built for her
made entirely of words.
A safe haven
in which she could seek refuge
in.
That this world
can be bitter and cruel,
and that he imbued his very love
for her
in the walls that he built.
His passing meant the end
of such a place,
but it was not of his own doing.
It was her.
You see,
there exists a force
that can overpower
even the stars
and love.
It was fear
that destroyed the warlock.
Her fear
of accepting responsibility.
Her fear
of accepting love.
Her fear
of no longer relying
on victimhood.